


Lacrimosa

by dachenabritta



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Celtic Mythology & Folklore, Dark fic, Death and War, Enemies to Lovers, England - Freeform, F/M, Hibernophobia, Illness, Imaginary Friends, Major TW will be tagged before a chapter, Medication, Politics, Post-WAR world, Rey is the Palpatine heiress, Set in dystopian Western world, Slight reyux, Slow Burn, The year is 2033, and general bad treatment to many other European countries, bad politics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:15:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27890623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dachenabritta/pseuds/dachenabritta
Summary: With her twenty-first birthday fast approaching, Eirenia Palpatine begins the preparations for overtaking her Grandfather's fortune, power and position. She is to become one of the four political Rulers of the Modern Empire and has been trained her entire life for such.Eirenia can solidify a permanent alliance between England and America by marrying the man her Grandfather so deems. It's a perfect portrait: politically-wise.Unfortunately, Eirenia is still undoubtedly andfoolishlyin love with her imaginary friend.And strange things keep happening.
Relationships: Rey & Ben Solo, Rey & Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 32
Kudos: 44
Collections: Ijustfellintothissendhelp





	1. Thoughts

**Author's Note:**

> AH!!! So fun fact: I have been writing this since May of this year! It's been bouncing insistently in my head and I can't wait to share it with you guys. 
> 
> This fic has many inspirations. I loved the idea of a dystopian future where the character lives in such a bubble of comfort and wealth, that they don't actually know the true horrors of what surrounds them. Mix that with a bucket load of mystery, a slap of romance and BOOM: slow-burn, enemies to lovers, political fic. 
> 
> Chapters will be out slow, but hopefully on a schedule. Thousands of thanks to my AMAZING beta, Bee!!! Please follow her on [twitter](https://twitter.com/justsunshinerey)! She's an amazing person and I couldn't have done this without her support. 
> 
> Enjoy!  
> DCB

It’s a quiet day at the Heathfield manor.

The clouds roam the swollen sea of a sky, free of perturbed responsibility or care.

Eirenia Palpatine sits in the manor’s garden, east of the massive and gothic structure. Her hands rub small circles into the bench’s marble slab, taking deep breaths of the late afternoon’s air and basking in the rare England sunshine.

Summer is drawing closer, Eirenia’s twenty-first birthday not far behind.

After her bi-weekly violin practices, she will make her way to the gardens or explore farther beyond the estate’s boundaries into the wild, primeval forest that she’s _technically_ forbidden to enter.

That doesn’t stop her usually, and it sure as hell doesn’t stop her today.

Her bare feet trudge across the countryside, the earthly feel below her toes as sweet as ever. She can’t think very clearly throughout the day, but when she’s outdoors, walking alongside Mother Nature herself, it’s like her head clears within seconds.

She ponders a variety of topics that would course through her mind now that she’s able.

_How does one place a ship within a glass bottle?_

_Why is tea taken in specific places at specific times?_

_How do I draw a hand without it turning out like claws?_

None of the questions are very interesting or radical. But it’s fun nonetheless to hear the small voice within her head chirp away while she looks beyond the Alder trees and rolling hills.

One question a few years back _did_ fashion further thinking and a couple more questions directed towards members of the household:

_Why do the servants call me “Miss Rey”?_

It was a thought that dug within her mind for years and years. All the servants, chauffeurs, cook, butlers and maids who were part of Heathfield manor since the beginning of her time referred to her as “Miss Rey” rather than her name, Eirenia, which her grandfather used.

_“It was your…previous name,” her grandfather finally huffed out after she asked every single staff member with no avail. “The one your mother gave you without my permission or will.”_

She remembers confusion. Not understanding _why_ her grandfather wouldn’t approve of such a delicate yet powerful name so fitting for her. Eirenia is wonderful, don’t get her wrong. It’s an old name with plenty of meaning, she’s sure, but-

Eirenia refers to herself as _Rey_ within the confines of her own soul and mind anyways.

She never tells her grandfather such.

A couple weeks later, the staff is prohibited from using the “ _tainted_ ” name her grandfather so deems.

_Rey_ becomes extinct to everyone but the name’s holder.

With a few final, and frankly tired steps, Rey reaches the perimeter of the neighboring forest, not quite in the mood for in-depth exploring. Instead, she sits down into the hill of wild daisies and lavender that spatter the foliage.

These are the moments she truly relishes. The times that are hers and hers alone. No tutors, servants or advisors bother her.

When Rey looks up to the heavens, the normally grey, leaden clouds are white. They puff through the Spring breeze without a care in the world.

What a luxury that may be.

The entire Palpatine, estate, fortune and name rests upon Rey’s shoulders. Being the only living descendent of the Palpatine hierarchy, she will be the sole proprietor of the family’s _everything_.

And when she reaches the age of twenty-one, she will begin her training as the next Master Palpatine.

_Mistress_ Palpatine, she corrects herself.

Not many things stress her out.

Except for _that._

Rey shakes her head free of the dizzying thoughts, long auburn hair tousling as she does so. Today, her locks are pulled back with a ribbon; a nearly three-meter cut of satin. It complements her white and navy ensemble; a tea length skirt layered below a sailor-style top, with a collar and stripes to match.

Due to the lack of technology within the manor, _per her grandfather’s orders_ , Rey has not a single clue what women her age wear in Wider England. No magazines are allowed either, so for all she knows, her clothing could be the laughing stock of modern couture.

Eirenia doesn’t mind though. She’s dressed the same since she was a child.

Well _,_ her _maidservants_ dress her, like they have since she was a child. So really, Rey never had a choice of her attire in the first place.

The breeze picks up in pace and Rey loses herself to the feeling. She sits calmly in the grass; skirt becoming dirty no doubt and closes her eyes.

Rey thinks of nothing.

◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇

It’s nearly fifteen forty-five when she finally cracks an eye open, peeking down at the hands of her eighteen-karat watch.

The bell rings loud enough that Rey hears it a kilometer out from the manor. It’s a signal: fifteen minutes before she must meet her Grandfather for afternoon tea.

It takes longer than she hopes to return, her maids quickly changing her outfit and washing the dirt off her bare feet. Rey hurries down the wrapped staircase to the scarlet-clad parlor where her Grandfather awaits.

An array of delicately cut sandwiches, scones with clotted cream and jam, sweet pastries and cakes spread across the expanse of the old oak table.

Her hands smooth the underside of the dress’s skirt as she sinks into her chair.

_Yet another white dress_ , she secretly complains, but it was his request. 

A maid fills both cups, now that Rey has arrived, and leaves in a haste when her job is finished. Rey can understand why. Her grandfather is scowling at her.

“My dear Eirenia, it’s nearly half past four,” he tells her in a sickeningly sweet tone. “I know you’re aware of afternoon tea. The time has been instilled to you since you could _drink_ tea.”

The tone may be gentle. But the inflections behind his words are not.

Sheev Palpatine is a charismatic and charming man, winning the heart of England’s most powerful politicians and the poster boy of wealth within the highest levels of society. Rey is unsure of _what_ kind of business specifically he conducts, but whatever it is, he’s highly successful with it. And she'll need to learn soon anyways. 

Rey nearly winces when she picks up the cup and saucer. “I’m sorry, Grandfather. I’ll be sure it won’t happen again.”

He follows her, taking a sip of the Rooibos tea. The taste is herbal and hearty, as the leaf stems from legumes of South Africa. It’s not Rey’s favorite; she rather prefers a Mint Verbena or Black variation.

Her grandfather hums his discontent, picking up one of the finger sandwiches while Rey’s hands remain in her lap. For some reason, her appetite is not as feverous this afternoon.

“Not hungry today?”

Rey politely shakes her head and takes another sip, his displeasure growing.

Old, tired eyes study his granddaughter. “Perhaps it’s a side effect of the new medication? Shall I call in the doctor again to review the prescription?”

Out of all the many things in the world Rey wants, another doctor’s visit is _not_ on that list.

“No, it’s not that, I swear,” she contends. “It’s just I- well, I did a lot of thinking today, that’s all. About my future, and the estate. You know.” Rey waves a nervous hand like she’s swatting a fly. “ _All that_.”

Her grandfather has already eaten two sandwiches and moves to the scones, drenching them in lemon curd and cream.

“Ah, yes. Your twenty-first will be arriving soon, will it not?” He sighs and looks up to the ceiling. “My, it seems like time has flown by within this manor.”

_Maybe to you_ she bites back within her imagination, _but for me, it’s been centuries._

“Try not to exasperate yourself, Eirenia. Both you and I know that your condition worsens under stress.”

What her grandfather says is indeed true. Whenever Rey feels the prick of tension threaten to rise and crest over her body, nearly animalistic urges overwhelm her. A few years ago, she ruined a piece of watercolor art she’d poured her heart into. Rey became so viscously upset, she ran out to the grass behind the greenhouse and started _ripping_ at the innocent foliage.

This event was similar to many others; always viscid and always sending her flying to the outdoors, no matter the time or weather.

And after every time, her dosage was upped.

Thankfully, the latest prescription has completely numbed _that_ particular feeling. As well as any other emotions Rey held previously. “I’ll make sure not to, Grandfather. Thank you for caring so much about me.”

The smile he cracks her is somewhat genuine, but Rey honestly cannot tell.

“Anything for you, my Eirenia.”

Her appetite still has not returned so instead, Rey drains her cup and sets the painted china against the table.

They carry idle conversation, like every afternoon tea, discussing her lessons, her advisory reviews, her studies within financials and her soon-to-be birthday.

“Before I forget,” her grandfather says towards the end of their meal, “I was going to inform you of the small party we’re hosting tomorrow afternoon.”

“Oh. Alright.”

_Parties_ equate to gloating, like most high-society events, which Rey sees as absolutely unnecessary and ego-inflating. At least she’ll get to enjoy the company of people who are not her grandfather or staff. 

Even if said company is the worst of the worst, hidden behind veneered teeth and sheltered opinions.

“It will be high tea with our ambassador team from America. They’ve been in the states for a few months now, and we are welcoming them back and having them share the good news and further dealings of our unity.” 

Outdoor high-tea parties are lively, and always the most elaborate at the Heathfield estate.

“That’s wonderful. I’ll make sure to wear the new dress you bought me.”

“That would be ideal,” he says. “I will require you to be on your best behavior. There’s a special gentleman I want to introduce to you.”

“Special…?” Rey’s eyebrows raise at the strange connotation, nonetheless at _gentleman_.

“Yes, he’s one of the ambassadors. Very educated young man he is, and you both share a very… _particular_ heritage. He was saved by the British, just like yourself.”

Rey is stunned into silence.

What does one say to that?

_Oh, yes, Grandfather, do attempt to play matchmaker for me, would you?_

Instead, all she manages is a pathetic, “ _huh_?”

Her grandfather chuckles. “I think you will like him. He’s an impressive consultant for the embassy program and I trust him with enough of my money already.”

The clock strikes seventeen, breaking the strange tension set within the room. Her grandfather has never _,_ and Rey means _never_ , spoke or mentioned a man in favor to Rey.

She bows her head respectfully, asking to be excused for painting studies she has no plans on doing and away from the conversation.

“You are excused but- “

A wrinkled hand reaches across and wraps around her wrist like a vice. He may be old, but Palpatine is still a strong, powerful man.

“You tell me the second any of those… _impulses_ return. Do you understand?”

Rey hasn’t had a fit in years. He must believe that her upcoming birthday and other events will push her beyond again.

“Um, yes. Of course, Grandfather.”

He nods in approval, releasing his grip and returning to the scones.

“Good girl. Enjoy the rest of your evening. I unfortunately cannot join you for dinner, so I bid you an excellent evening and night.”

“Alright then,” she says with a curtsey, “Good evening and good night, Grandfather.”

And with that, she heads straight to the study.

◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇

Thoughts are best ignored indoors. Rey can do so by throwing herself into literally anything else.

Once afternoon tea wraps, Rey is allotted time for whatever she sees fit before dinner. Since many of her tutored subjects are already passions, she uses the time for honest relaxation. Whether that be reading, writing or watching films through the 1972 Bell and Howell projector.

Her favorite book right now is _Wuthering Heights,_ she’s currently writing poetry about maritime archaeology and the last film she played was _Metropolis._

But when she reaches the study and sits in the damask covered chair, all she can do is just…sit.

No pens are picked up. Her books sit patiently on lacquered shelves. The projector remains stored in its closet.

Why _today?_ Why must Rey succumb to this feeling specifically _today?_

It’s just an ordinary Friday in late May.

The maid responsible for her twice-daily medication dosages enters the study with a quiet knock, nearly two hours since Rey had sat down. If she’s shocked to see her mistress stilled and glazed beyond belief, she’s quick to hide it.

“Here you are, Madame Eirenia.” The maid hands over the assortment of colored pills and a glass of cooled, peppermint tea.

_This looks like more than I usually take,_ she dangerously thinks.

But Rey takes the medication without further concern, like she has for three years now.

She is _very_ sick, after all.

◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇

Dinner tonight is lamb and sautéed vegetables. Nothing too fancy.

Her fork and knife scrape softy against the fine china, but the dining room is silent without her grandfather’s presence, so such noise is amplified tenfold.

The medication completely kicks in by the time they reach dessert. Her mind and heart go absolutely numb, causing the pomegranate sorbet to taste like nothing.

And like the rotation of a Georgian longcase clock, her nighttime routine begins directly after dinner.

Her head maidservant, Jess, draws her a bath during her dinner and the water is ready by the time Rey climbs the creaky stairs to reach her master bedroom.

She undresses without shame, in front of Jess and several other chambermaids when she reaches her room, dropping clothes to the ground and leaving a trail of white georgette and cotton. Jess offers to help wash Eirenia’s back and hair, seeing as such actions are almost impossible due to the medication’s effect tonight. She accepts, even though there was no choice to begin with.

The water is not hot nor cold. When Jess’s fingers pull and comb her hair, there’s no pain or relief. Rey doesn’t even blush when Jess takes a razor to her underarms.

Usually, after bathing, Rey either sits on her blue velvet chaise in the boudoir or in bed, to read before falling asleep. But, like earlier within the study, all she is adept of doing is sitting in her silk sheets, wet locks braided and treated with oils.

_Why today?_ She asks herself again.

Jess tucks her in when the night becomes opaque and wraps the estate.

“Anything else for tonight, Madame?”

There’s not a single wrinkle on Jess’s face but there’s age within her eyes. She must be no older than Eirenia herself. Jess has been her trusted head chambermaid since Rey was fifteen.

“Just the usual before you go, Jess. Thank you.”

She bows her head in understanding, leaving the side of the bed to cross the Persian rug that splays the entirety of the floor. With routine, Jess grabs at the walk-in closet's brass knobs and yanks the French doors open, letting them quietly thump against the walls.

“Good night, Madame Eirenia.”

Rey’s eyes are closed when Jess exits the room. She enters the dreamless world of sleep by the time the chamber’s door closes with a _creak._

◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇

_Most nights, Rey can sleep like the dead. Unmoving, thoughtless and unfazed._

_Tonight is not like most nights. Seven-year-old Eirenia tosses and turns, a presence unbeknownst deep within her heart; a longing of sorts, one that frequents often but not with such force._

_This feeling is loneliness. The dark, devoid pressure that haunts her every day, even with her Grandfather’s soft words or the pleasant conversations with the maids or butlers. Rey wants for nothing. She’s gifted any toy, any dish, anything her small heart may desire, except one very important thing._

_A companion._

_She does ask for a dog. Or cat. Even a fish will do. Many of the heroines within the pages of her stories have a companion to confide in, to share secrets with. Sometimes, they’re human too. Rey wouldn’t mind that either._

_A sudden crashing comes from beyond her room’s barrier, down the stretch of the carpeted hallways and past the wooden steps to the kitchens. She bolts upwards out of bed._

_Rey slips on woolen socks and then tiptoes softly down the hall, steps and dining room, holding her breath as the floorboards creak and moan under her light weight._

_It’s quite late. Her heart races knowing what she’s doing is essentially forbidden but her curiosity outweighs her sensical self._

_When she finally reaches the planks of the kitchen’s floor, her eyes squint in search of the noise’s origin. At first, everything appears to be unmoving, until a slight flinch within the confines of the pantry’s darkness causes Rey to gasp and quickly cover her mouth._

_There are silver streaks of moonlight that flood through the kitchen’s high-topped windows, the pattern striping over the floors, counters, ovens and stove. Whatever she saw move moments earlier begins to move again, this time drawing closer to the pantry’s closest streak of light, illuminating the figure at such a slow pace that Rey’s irritation and fear grow alongside each other in equal_ _bouts._

_A pale, bare foot, then a pajamaed leg come into view, her brow raising in confusion. She’s never seen her Grandfather wear something so…casual, and it doesn’t make any sense why he would be mysteriously stalking the kitchen so late at night._

_With another step forward, the leg is followed by a torso donning a black, long sleeve shirt, then lanky arms and then-_

_A face. A_ **_boy’s_ ** _face._

_With perplexity, Rey rubs twin palms at her eyes, clearing whatever sleep may remain._

_She must be sleeping, right?_

_Rey has never seen this boy before, nor seen him on the estate’s grounds. Heck, she’s never even seen him in all of England, his face being so distinctive and particular._

_She once_ **_-_ ** _overs him again, this time catching something he’s holding in his left hand. It’s a small bag of foil, opened and the contents removed. His other hand reaches to pick at another, her gaze fixing onto whatever he’s grabbing to finally realize it’s a crisp._

_There’s an unknown boy in her kitchen eating crisps_.

**_Her_ ** _crisps, might she add. Grandfather buys_ **_her_ ** _that particular brand, exclusively for Eirenia._

_The boy looks straight into her eyes, brings the crisp to his long, paled face and then pops the fried morsel into his mouth, crunching loudly._

_And by God’s graces, Rey is so offended by this sin that her feelings of fear and bewilderment are suddenly replaced with anger and annoyance. She stomps down a wool foot as softly as she can, but with still enough weight to inflict her astounding annoyance._

_How dare he? Is he some new employee here? An employee’s son?_

_“Those are_ **_my_ ** _crisps,” she squeaks out through gritted teeth._

_It’s now the strange boy’s turn to raise a brow at her, munching as he does so._

_“No, they’re not.”_

_Rey’s jaw drops at this boy’s audacity as well at his voice; his accent in particular. Rey has never met an American before._

_Like the grown-ups Rey watches every day, she crosses her arms in aggravation and straightens her back as much as possible, even though the boy towers over her small, scraggly figure._

_“Yes, they are. You’re in my house, in my kitchen and those,” she points an accusing finger, “are_ **_my_ ** _crisps. Grandfather buys them special for_ **_me_ ** _.”_

_Her words break the solemn face he held to a now peevish one, his eyes searching around the shadowed kitchen and windows, then onto Rey’s irritated expression._

_“This is all mine_ _because this is_ **_my_ ** _dream.”_

_Huh._

_Out of all the boy’s possible retorts, this is definitely not the excuse her mind had drawn up initially._

_Is she dreaming? Never in her nine years of life has a dream been so vivid and real, to a point where Rey can feel the manor’s slight chill through her cotton nightgown and the hard floors below her feet. Perhaps she is sleepwalking, like one of her previous nanny’s did for years, until her Grandfather deemed her too risky and sent her back to Oxford._

_She rubs at her eyes once again with the hopes to rid the vision in front of her. But when her palms fall once more, he is still standing there, the night illuminating his unruly, raven hair and spotted skin._

_He finishes the bag (her bag) of crisps and wipes the remnants of oil and crumbs along his plaid trousers. With a quick crumble of the bag, he throws it without a care to the floor, stepping closer to Rey. Her arms are still locked painfully together, her interrogation obviously failing._

_The boy must have picked up on her fear. In all fairness, he appears eight or nine years older and almost three meters taller than Rey. His eyes are intimidating and dark as they scan her frozen form._

_“What’s your name, British-girl-I’ve-made-up-in-my-head?”_

_Where is all her fury? Her integrity? Rey is no better than a wounded bluebird._

_“Eir-“she finally whispers before catching herself. Grandfather said to never trust strangers, especially with her name._

_Names hold more power than people think._

_“Rey,” she decides. “My name is Rey.”_

_It may not be true, but it is a name that most of the staff call her by._

_The boy somehow picks up on her fibbing and smirks down at her. It’s now Rey’s turn to gather the courage and retort back._

_‘A-and you? What’s your name?”_

_His nose and mouth twist together, like he’s trying to decide what answer to give her. It’s a name, for goodness sakes. Isn’t that something that should be said quickly?_

_“My name is Ben.”_

_Ben, apparently, reaches a greasy hand out to hers to shake. His palm is easily the size of her head._

_Rey is hesitant, but shakes it anyways, knowing the grease will taint her hand as they grasp together, the tension slowly melting away at the touch._

_His skin is warm and calming. Her shoulders relax. In the deepest, unknown crevices of her heart, a burning begins and spreads through her blood like dry wood on a summer day._

_Little Rey does not feel lonely for once._

_And, oh, how_ **_wonderful_ ** _it feels._

◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇

The memory plays out like a film: clear and crisp, enough to where sleeping-Rey believes she has time traveled to the past.

She tosses and turns, sweating through an ability she hardly has anymore: Dreaming. Ever since she was diagnosed and started her medication at seventeen, dreams just stopped completely.

And this memory was one of the reasons she was diagnosed in the first place. It’s bittersweet.

Rey has not thought of her imaginary friend for a while now, outgrowing him during later teenage years. He wasn’t a ghost, nor was he real in the first place, but a figment of a lonely and deprived child’s imagination.

At least that’s what the doctor concluded.

Ben’s hand still holds hers in the land of dreams, warm and comforting, like any imaginary friend would be.

But then everything suddenly… _morphs._

Her seven-year old self watches him fade from the moonlight-streaked kitchen, leaving his presence empty. Yet Rey can still feel his palm as it moves up her hand, harsh skin teasing pulse points, to then circle her wrist and pry her fingers open with a teasing touch.

Lips are suddenly planted to her wrist’s pulse with a touch so hot and faint, goosebumps erupt across her arms and chest.

Her eyes fly open in an instant, her dream world mixing with what appears to be _somehow_ happening in real life. Rey quickly looks beyond her wrist, searching for the impossible.

Her heart falls nonetheless when her room appears to be empty.

The beating won’t stop. The touch scalds her wrist. The medication’s effects are wearing off, the chirping voice screaming instead of humming.

All she cando is breathe. But the motion feels foreign.


	2. The Spine in the Staircase

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I'm super excited to post another chapter. Lots of research goes into each scene so they take quite a bit. Thank you to my amazing beta, [Bee!](https://twitter.com/justsunshinerey)
> 
> DCB

If yesterday was the equivalent of fog, then today is hot and wrenching _sunshine._

  
  


Rey has not dreamed since she started her dosages at seventeen.

  
  


And to make such an incident even _worse,_ the dream was so ridiculously vivid, that she could see, feel and hear every fraction of the scenario. 

  
  


Jess is unavailable this morning, seeing to the preparations for high tea rather than Eirenia’s morning dress. One of the newer chambermaids, Rey thinks her name may be Connie or Katie (something of the sorts), dresses and prepares her instead. 

  
  


Rey sits in a fit of uncertain energy at her vanity, curlers, makeup and ribbons aligned neatly across the polished wood. When she gazes into the mirror, all she sees is a young woman with brown hair and brown eyes, simmering in curiosity and agony. 

  
  
  


Why _that_ memory out of all of them? The first time Rey ever conjured up her imaginary friend. 

  
  
  


Rey has already forgotten about Ben. He was a child’s plaything, like any other toy she owned. 

  
  
  


The maid sets down Rey’s stockings and shoes for the day and makes her way to the closet, where the French doors still lay wide open. She eyes the vacant door frame, turns to Rey as if to speak, then snaps her mouth shut and heads into the closet.

  
  


Rey catches the whole scene in the reflection of the vanity’s mirror, unbeknownst to the new hire.

  
  


She returns with a plain set of culottes and a cardigan, an outfit chosen for breakfast and time before the event. Rey could sigh in relief at the sight of pants, _finally_. Jess prefers dresses and skirts.

While the curling iron twists around Rey’s chestnut locks, the maid keeps losing focus and turning back to the closet. 

“Something wrong?” she finally asks. At this rate, Rey’s rather afraid she’ll scorch her neck.

“Uhh,” the girl swallows, “yes, Madame. W-were the closet doors left open all night? I didn’t see you open them this morning.”

Rey’s nerves leave her for the moment. It’s fun to mess with new hires. “Afraid of monsters still I see?”

“N-no, it’s just that-um, well.” The maid gulps, letting a hot curl fall onto Eirenia’s shoulder. “It just seems…unusual. If I may say that.”

  
  


Ah, the newest ones are always so polite. And fragile. 

  
  


“You can say anything that you want, if I’m being honest. Ask Jess, we speak about a plethora of subjects, many that I guess someone of my status would deem _inappropriate.”_

“ _Oh,_ ” the poor thing sighs in relief, “that’s wonderful to hear. Thank you, Madame.”

She grabs a few more strands of hair and begins to wrap again. 

“So then, if I may ask, why were the closet doors open?”

Rey’s eyes leave her reflection and shift to the now-closed doors, a nostalgic sigh waving through her lungs and throat. It’s been a while since she explained.

“It’s an old habit from when I was a young girl. I always opened them before I went to bed. Every night then. And every night now.”

The flaxen-haired maid places the ironing rod onto its steel placeholder; silent and face fixed in puzzlement. 

“But...what is the purpose for opening them?”

Her head chamber maid, whether that be Maria, Rachel or Jess, has been closing and opening those white doors for a decade now. No one has questioned the ritual. They’ve just followed orders.

  
  


Rey can only stare back at her porcelain reflection. “I don’t know.”

◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇

Breakfast is quick and simple, Grandfather still too preoccupied with the afternoon’s party to dine with her. Rey isn’t particularly lonely when she’s alone. There _used_ to be a companion for her during moments like this. But Eirenia is a grown woman now. She can eat breakfast without a frivolous dining friend. 

She’s completed some financial spreadsheets before her afternoon dressing starts. They’re good practice and soon they’ll _all_ be her responsibility. 

Rey can only gulp. 

She does not want a repeat of yesterday’s…crisis. 

Like clockwork, the dressing maidservants arrive to prepare for the tea party. Jess has returned with them and greets Rey with a warm smile. Her social circle is practically limited to those who live and serve in the Heathfield manor walls. Jess is someone most modern girls would consider a _girlfriend,_ or whatever those magazines she’s forbidden to read say. 

Properly done up this time, Eirenia is transformed to the rich heiress who’s due to reign over an entire empire of wealth and power. Her curled hair is twisted tightly with pins, loose strands framing her round cheeks and face. The makeup is light and innocent, thankfully. Rey hates the feeling of cake icing on her face (which is the best comparison she can draw to foundation).

Like Grandfather had requested yesterday afternoon, Eirenia dons the dress he’d purchased for her whilst overseas in the states last Autumn. 

The short, puff sleeves fit perfectly around her arms, the neckline low, but still conservative enough for her grandfather’s taste. The ruched fabric on the bodice clings perfectly to her moderate chest and the buttons interrupt the solid white of the dress. White for purity; innocence, untainted. She is untouched by many things, man included. 

Her thoughts, although, are not as pure as the gown. 

Rey’s mind races back to last night, the dream shooting back in full force. Memories that still haze over like fog attempt to break through her mind and announce themselves, but years of therapy and medication silence them again. 

She had never once in her life imagined him… _kissing_ her.

Even if it was just a mere peck to the wrist, it still counted in her playbook. Are these impure thoughts unhealthy? What if Grandfather was to find out?

It’s all too dizzying. Now is not the time to pay any mind to such thoughts. Rey chides herself, rubbing her wrist, the one he’d supposedly touched. Eirenia finally leaves her room and begins walking towards the party downstairs, music and laughs echoing through the manor’s bottom floor. 

Passing the hundred of frames and glass boxes that adorn the staircase’s walls, Eirenia makes her official entrance to the tea party, all voices stopping the second she steps foot onto the marble staircase, beckoning over the grass and party. 

Jess and the other maidservants had followed her command and awaited patiently for her arrival, her parasol handed over and opened quickly. She’s blessed by the relief of instantaneous shade, stepping down the stairs as Eirenia hears her Grandfather announce the welcoming of the young heiress, every set of eyes following her movements. 

And Rey _hates_ it.

She does not make eye contact with anyone besides her grandfather. She’s practically beelining to him, wanting to avoid any small talk or chit-chat. It’s probably better that way. Grandfather says Eirenia lets too many things slip when conversing with politicians. 

  
  


_“It’s not your fault, my dear,” he’d said to Eirenia, fourteen at the time, “some of us just do not possess the ability to hold a secret, while some of us are far too skilled at such.”_

  
  


Every decoration, every appetizer, even every leaf of tea, has been handpicked and executed to the finest of one’s ability. Eirenia plods past the Gabin-lace covered tables and is tempted to grab a pastry or sandwich-but such an act will bring a guest over wanting to speak to her. 

Her grandfather welcomes her with a chaste hug, which is only for show, as the group of people surrounding him greet her. Eirenia doesn’t recognize a single person and they’re all dressed in mild tones much like herself; blues, whites and greys. 

There’s one person in particular, wearing a sterling coloured suit jacket and trousers amidst the daunting heat, and far younger than the others. 

“This,” her grandfather motions a hand to the man, “is Armitage Hux, our representative in the States.”

The man is tall. Red hair accompanies his pale complexion and freckles dot his nose bridge and hands. Eirenia has not seen a redhead in what feels like centuries due to the constant conflict the previous United Kingdom has been plunged into. His grin is charming, much like the way his eyes sparkle in the blaring sunlight, and Rey wishes, _oh how_ she wishes, she was attracted to him. 

This must be who her grandfather was eager to introduce. The first and perhaps only man that could potentially be her suitor, and he is not Rey’s type. 

How disappointing.

“It’s nice to meet you, Miss Palpatine,” he says, grabbing her hand and pressing a chaste kiss to her knuckles. 

It doesn’t burn like yesternight. Rey feels no tickle in her stomach or gasp in her throat. 

“Oh, Eirenia is fine.” She detests how formal _Miss Palpatine_ sounds. “And the pleasure is all mine.”

Grandfather smiles slightly as he lowers her hand. “Armitage has been performing exceptional work with our overseas allies. He not only handles almost all financially and fiscal deals, but he’s working to take over Snoke’s position within the Court of Majesties here.”

Her ears perk up at that. “Wow, a position at the court? That’s an incredible opportunity, mister Armitage.”

“Thank you. I have only your Grandfather to thank for such honor.” 

“Eirenia has been working tremendously hard on her daily lessons.” Grandfather continues, paying no mind to Armitage’s rather lucrative position. “Arithmetic, viola and Latin are just the beginning, _nothing less for the next heiress of the…”_

His words fade as Rey’s eye catches something dark in the corner of the garden. 

“… _American allies who will work alongside her, as well as you…_ ”

It’s a black mast floating in an ocean of sugar and sickness, quickly darting in and out of sight. 

“… _preparing to overtake my current duties and subordinates…”_

Blurry and fading, but just for a moment there, Rey could have _sworn_ it almost looked like-

“ _Eirenia_?” 

She shakes her head, the mysterious figure gone. Grandfather does not look pleased.

“Hm? Yes, Grandfather?”

He waves a hand out to her and makes a scoffing noise, directing his attention back to Armitage.

“Prissy girl, I tell you. Please ignore her when she’s like that. It’s a condition she’s had for some time now.”

Rey hates how infantilizing her grandfather is when speaking about her illness. She understands that it’s a major part of her life, but it can get to a point where it’s her _entire_ life. 

Wanting to veer the current conversation off the hypothetical road and hopefully amuse her Grandfather, Rey loops an arm around Armitage’s and stands adjacent to him. “Would you care to stroll with me, mister Armitage?”

It’s quite a brave move on her end. His eyes dart back to Palpatine, then to her, seeking approval. Grandfather gives with a nod, grin hiding below a very carefully concealed expression and they take off to the Hornbeam hedging maze, just beyond the party.

When they’re finally out of ears reach, Rey heaves a heavy sigh and leans the parasol on her shoulder. Parties are already stressing Rey enough to make her feel like she’s pulling teeth, but ones where she must speak? Those are _far_ worse. 

So why not only speak to just one?

“Tell me, Armitage.” She hesitates for a moment, unsure of the polite protocol. “May I call you that?”

But he relaxes, elbow relaxing in Rey’s grip. “Certainly.” 

“Do you hold high favor for my Grandfather?”

He clears his throat. “Well, seeing as the man is not only my superior, but my _superior’s_ superior, I can only answer that question one way, Miss Eirenia.”

Typical. No one ever seems to dislike Grandfather, which is odd since he’s a rather dislikable man. 

“He seems to treat you with great kindness. Kindness I would be envious of at your age.”

“My age?” Rey asks, brow furrowing. “May I ask how old you are?”

“I’m thirty-two,” he answers. 

“ _Thirty-two_? I wouldn’t have guessed you a day over twenty-five, if I’m being honest. Is it true our skin ages much slower than the others?”

Armitage stops suddenly, beginning to understand what she’s inferring. 

“I have...heard such rumors before. There are old stories of magic, but that was of course snuffed out during the wars of 2023.”

“ _Magic_. That word is forbidden in Heathfield. Do you know what else is forbidden in the manor?”

"No, I do not."

Rey twirls the parasol, the shade spinning and catching in the spring breeze. “Well, _lots_ of things are not allowed in the manor but none of which would be very significant to you, Armitage. Perhaps a certain word, though?”

“And which word would be forbidden and of interest to me?”

“ _Irish_.”

He takes a quiet gasp, almost like he was expecting it. Remembering what her grandfather said yesterday about their particular shared trait, Rey was first to guess it was about their identities. She wasn’t entirely sure _which_ part of their identities, whether that be a far away attitude or likening for savory pastries rather than sweet- but Irish makes a bit more sense. Especially from Armitage’s physical traits. 

“Yes. Your grandfather may have...mentioned it to me. You are lucky though. I’ve been cursed with many of the prominent Irish characteristics.” He gazes down at Eirenia, eyes tracing over her chestnut hair and mocha freckles. “Not really a problem for your complexion.”

“I am blessed. I ensure you, my grandfather acknowledges my gratuity each and every day.”

He hums as they walk carefully through freshly cut grass, the ripe scent still lingering in the air. “I have a word as well. I think it describes you well, Miss Palpatine.

She grins, delighted in the exchange. “And what exactly would that be?”

“ _Spitfire,_ Eirenia. I believe _spitfire_ would be the best word to describe you.”

_Having attention from a man is rather exciting,_ she thinks, giggling at the blush fighting its way to her cheeks.

They begin nearing the finale of the maze, the conversation drifting to her studies and away from cursed words and blood lines. Rey finds herself enjoying her time with Armitage Hux and even dares to flirt, using terms she’s picked up in her mild yet tantalizing romance novels. He doesn’t blush or redden, like the men on her pages do, but he does fire back with kind words and phrases of amusement. 

The party is dying down by the time they exit. Grandfather is waiting patiently at the center of the garden, hands clasped behind his back and chin raised expectantly. 

“I trust that nothing obscene happened within the walls of that greenery, Eirenia?” He asks, Armitage bidding adieu from across the lawn. Grandfather asks her so bluntly that she gasps, turning to him in shock. 

“Of course not!”

He only nods in confirmation and turns to head back to the manor, leaving the servants to clean up and Eirenia to follow. 

“He’s a good man, Armitage. Our relationship with the American allies is vitally important to the board. I expect nothing but submission from you when he is around.”

_Submission?_

"But-"

"This is not an argument, Eirena. You will not displease me.”

She keeps her eyes on her boots, _submission_ haunting her with every step. She’s already like a dog to her grandfather; calling and acting to his every beckon. But to a man? A potential husband? Rey will have to hide her inhibitions.

“Yes, Grandfather.”

“Good girl. Now please clean up. You may read or write before dinner. And make sure the nurse gives you the correct dose this evening.”

◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇

She trudges up the staircase, each step creaking in harmony. Years of running and prattling sing a song of creaks. Above the staircase hangs Grandfather's gallery, which is composed of various 18th and 19th century art pieces, animal heads and framed floral. Rey once became so bored at age ten, that she scrutinized each and every piece and wrote a small pamphlet describing the gallery. 

She climbs up a few steps and passes the painting of a woman with her head dangling back, shrieking in either joy or horror. A man is seen in the corner of a frame. Rey named her _the pretty scream_. 

Another few steps down hangs the dried rose bouquet, which Rey likened to a bride’s savored day. Preserved purple and red petals bleed into each other, to form a colour much like dead flesh. 

She stops at the top of the staircase, both feet planted on the second floor. Here, at the ultimate ascent of the mansion, hangs a framed spine; flowers, porcelain carvings and leaves scatter around the frame. It’s preserved and stark white, much like the paper Rey writes on. There’s a slight curve halfway through, giving the illusion of movement for an otherwise dead thing. 

This final piece always gave Rey the most trouble. It’s a beautiful mystery. 

Is it a horse’s spine? It’s much too short to be. Perhaps a doe’s? No, they have far more vertebrae than the one displayed.

So, like she did as a child, Rey would leave this story empty. There’s no use of guessing if she doesn’t even have a clue where to start. 

It’s been years since she last pondered the oddities of her grandfather, becoming much too busy with lessons and etiquette classes. The spine, although, piques her interest in ways she cannot say. It’s like words will not form when she attempts to explain her curiosity. 

But today, Rey can only stand and stare. It’s been a wild day, to say the least, and she just needs a moment to breath. To do nothing. 

And she does. 

◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇

Rey has decided on _To Kill a Mockingbird_ this evening, which was snuck to her by one of the butlers. Although she’s been informed it’s technically classic literature, the book has been banned for several years in England following the war, and was already a controversial piece in the States. Seeing that it’s forbidden, Rey became so tempted to read it. She had practically _begged_ one of the younger servants to fetch it for her. 

The book is hidden under the secret latch in her desk drawer, away from potentially prying eyes. Grandfather never comes to her room, so she lazes on her bed, silk robe wrapped around her body and legs grazing the sheets. 

She’s intensely into her book, only breaking her page when the nurse delivers her the medication. Today, thankfully, looks normal, and she takes them dry but not without the nurse exclaiming how sore that must make her throat. Rey only shrugs, the day still winding down and coursing through her head. When the nurse leaves, Rey shifts a bit on the bed, relaxed until her eyes catch the closet doors. 

Because they are open.   
  


Rey sits up hesitantly and toes across the ancient floors, hands grasping the twin knobs of the folding French doors. With quiet movements, she shuts them, mind becoming dulled and confused. 

Why would they be open? 

At eleven or twelve, Rey is unsure, she blearily remembers crying to Marie about...something involving the doors. But when she tries to think back, the medication kicks her brain and fog everything over. 

Shrugging, Rey hops back into the bed and presumes her reading. She’s already halfway done with the book. 

But then the ending begins to draw. Sunlight casts a golden glow through her silk curtains and Rey unwillingly drops the book, hands going limp. She doesn’t know when she falls asleep, but she’s groggily awoken by Jess, encouraging her to rise so she can change to her formal dinner wear. 

Rey hasn’t the slightest clue what dress she is now wearing. All she knows is that she’s being helped down the stairs, the portraits mixing together to a mélange of death and oak, skeletons and flowers coating the surface of her eyes. Jess and another maid, Rey’s unsure which one, grasp either sides of her arms and set her down at the table, face unmoving. 

Grandfather sits directly across, oceans away from her chair. 

“Eirenia? How are you feeling?”

She tries to respond, truly. But Rey begins to feel her shoulders sway as the first course is served before her. Like everything she watches, it’s just a blur of colours and textures.

“Child, what is-“

Rey flops forward, face falling directly into a plate of what she assumes is broccoli. Or meat. She has no idea. 

There’s clattering and some shouting, Grandfather yelling for the nurse as Rey remains deathly still, uncaring of the moist texture practically suffocating her. 

“- _How high was the dosage_?-“

There’s more muttering and soon, Rey is being lifted. 

“- _Just one hundred milligrams more sir. L-like you requested-“_

“ _-One hundred? I was explicit about giving her ten more!-_ “

_“-But sir, we have it written here, p-personally by you for one hundr-“_

_“-I don’t care! Get her upstairs and ensure that she continues to breathe!-“_

The voices morph to noises, much like the soft tuning of her viola. Like adjusting the sound of a string, it’s muffled and low: a warm, deep sound that vibrates through her body. 

She must black out. Because suddenly Rey is laying in bed, changed from her stuffy dress and lying in just her silk underwear. Jess sits aside to her body, holding a washcloth and bucket. 

She tries to say something but the only thing she can do is release a crack from her throat. 

Jess lets out a sigh of relief. “Thank Heavens. You scared us back there.”

Confused, and breathing just fine, Rey is able to lift her head enough to notice its pitch black outside. 

“It’s almost midnight. The drugs have subsided for now. Will you be okay on your own?"

Besides feeling groggy and somewhat thirsty, Rey is fine. The dosage must have been too great or it may have reacted with something she ate or drank earlier. Her head flops back down and Jess sits up, gazing down at her. Her attention is momentarily pulled away though when Jess spots the corner of the room.

“ _Huh_ . I could have _sworn_ I closed those damn doors.”

She still can’t speak but Rey watches Jess cross the room and close the French doors of the closet, huffing when the sound and force echoes through the room. 

“There we go.” The head maid clasps her hands on her hips, checking on Rey one last time,” anything else I can do, Madame?”

Rey only has the energy to shake her slightly, Jess nodding back as she leaves her room, leaving the young Palpatine heiress abruptly alone, staring off to the void of a lamp lit room, eyes never leaving the scathing French doors until she tumbles into a fitful slumber. 

◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇

_He’s standing in front of her. They’re in the garden, Rey carefully trimming the musk mallow to save for her encyclopedias._

_Well,_ **_Rey_ ** _is standing in the garden. She’s pretending Ben is standing alongside her._

_She chirps happily, teaching him about the leaf patterns and the life cycle of the particular plant, her imaginary friend listening intently to every word because what else would he do? He’s only a product of her brain. Of course he’ll do whatever she deems him to._

_Rey is thirteen. It’s a tender age. She’s already through the primary stages of puberty, figure coming to a slight shape and her height almost meeting some of the maids. In her girlish fantasies, Ben accompanies her whenever she is alone and bored, fretting for a friend or perhaps something more._

_Maybe that’s why the boy who stands in front of her is not really a boy, but at this point, a near man. Rey shows him the stalk of each plant, lecturing him of their Latin, scientific names, and he’ll sometimes ask a few questions. She has the answers of course, since it’s actually Rey asking herself._

_“What about the blue ones there?” His voice has also grown lower and huskier over the years. Rey quite likes the change her brain produced._

_“A cornflower? In Latin, they’re called_ _Centaurea.” Rey plucks one and notices that the yellowish fruit has not grown in yet. “They_ _produce edible flowers and sort of taste like cucumbers? Or a zucchini._ _”_

_Grandfather emerges from the manor’s front door, cane in hand and making his way to the garden. Rey freezes, the cornflower frozen below her nose. Sure, she’s allowed out here to play in between lessons but she knows she cannot be talking to her imaginary friend while in the meantime._

_“Is it your grandfather?”_

_Rey nods to the invisible man. According to Ben, he only gets to see what Rey wants him to see. Be that the flowers, or her room or her viola, Rey, and Rey alone, gives him the permission._

_And Rey does not want him to see Grandfather._

_“Old geezer. Why do we have to stop talking when he’s around?” His eyes narrow. “He doesn’t hurt you, right?”_

_Rey shakes her head. “No! He would never hit me!” Her boot twists in the grass. “It’s just...he doesn’t like me imagining things so often. Grandfather says daydreaming makes people hopeful and lost, until they’re drowning in a sea of the unachievable and it’s too late.”_

_“That’s...dark. And kinda poetic actually.”_

_Rey snorts at that. “Why can’t I be as clever as you?”_

_“You are, Rey. You’re me, after all.”_

_Her brows turn, a quizzical look passing her face. “But-“_

_He disappears in a snap- like someone has ripped Ben from her field of vision._

_Rey only huffs._

_Grandfather won’t find the flowers nearly as interesting as him._

◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇

Rey is still sleeping soundly, small breaths escaping her in a leisurely pace. This dream is one that she’ll remember the moment she wakes up, but will silently fall into embers of forgetting as the morning will bore on. 

But for now, she relishes in the memory. 

In actuality, she’s so sound asleep that she does not wake to the closet doors opening once more. The floors creak, now from a much heavier subject, as a shadow moves across the moonlit room. 

As carefully as he can, he walks over to the side of her bed, watching her sleep wrapped in a blanket of luxury and comfort. She’s so incredibly small like this- even smaller than the last time he _truly_ remembers seeing her. It feels like a lifetime ago. 

He doesn’t understand what’s bringing this all back. He doesn’t understand anything about any of this, really, but dreams have always been a tricky thing for Ben. 

Taking her palm with his again, he cups the side of his cheek with her gentle fingers. Rather than just kissing her wrist again, he allows himself a touch along her forearm too, lips trailing until he’s pressing a kiss to her bicep, so warm and so pliant. She wears no nightgown, her naked torso obscured by the sheets.

This would be wrong. He would never do this to anyone in real life. 

But this isn’t real. None of it is. 

He turns his head back to the closet. 

They had an agreement. 

Returning back to her wrist, he draws himself close to her, until his eyelashes nearly kiss her nose. He’s shocked she doesn’t wake, but maybe that’s what he wants; for her to never rise and remain like the Sleeping Beauty she is.

But, _oh_ , how he misses their conversations. Their jokes. Her voice.

“We had a deal, Rey.” He whispers only to her. “Don’t you remember?”

He presses a kiss to her palm, still cradled by his own. 

“Leave those doors open. Just for me. So that I don’t get lost.”

She sighs in her sleep as he kisses her hand again, skin warm to the touch.

“It’s good to see you again, Rey.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the [dress](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/708191110151811211/) Rey wears.
> 
> This is the inspiration for the [framed spine.](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/708191110145063907/)
> 
> This is Hux's [suit.](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/144537469293719447/)


	3. Gifts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't forget this fic, I promise! These chapters are just quite time-consuming for writing and editing, so apologies for the time span between them. I'm hoping with my new job I will have more time to write!
> 
> Beta'd by the amazing and ever INCREDIBLE, Bee!!💕💕
> 
> Enjoy~
> 
> Chaney

There is something exquisite about surprises, to a point where they become addicting; the yearning to know more and more becomes insatiable, until it’s not.

When something becomes routine, like a surprise, it grows easier to forget the excitement of its purpose in the first place. 

Which has unfortunately happened to Rey over the past three months. 

Sweet, spring air transformed to a hot, sweltering summer in the blink of an eye, trees and flowers blooming to the extent of their abilities with welcomed sunshine. The manor is kept somewhat cool throughout the summer, thankfully, and when Rey traverses outside, her clothes are light, airy and lacking- something her grandfather strongly dislikes but will never voice. 

In the May in which Eirenia met Armitage Hux, England’s representative and messenger for the States' capital, their unfamiliarity was still fresh. She was hesitant not to speak outside of her manner or position, as was he, but that ceiling was soon shattered when Armitage returned back from America later that month with something special. 

“A gift?” She’d asked, eyes blown wide. “For…me?”

They stood together, alone, in the hallways of portraits, south of Grandfather’s parlor. A hand rested behind his back, hidden from Eirenia’s eyes. 

“Of course. I saw it and immediately thought of you.”

She couldn’t fight back the blush when Armitage revealed the carefully wrapped box, almost squealing when he transferred it from his gloved hand to her bare. 

“This is- um-“ She stuttered. Sure, Grandfather brought gifts for Eirenia all the time, more often than not. But this wasn’t her Grandfather. Hell, Armitage was just a man, like all men she supposes are; but a man who grins tentatively at her, with a light in his eyes that she can’t pinpoint. 

“T-thank you.”

She unwrapped the tiny thing to reveal a box, which was then opened to further reveal a-

“...Teacup?”

It was a wistful little thing. Dainty in its own creation. Rey cradled it in her palm, admiring the blue and white Delft pattern similar to the China stacked flawlessly in the dining hall’s cabinets. No saucer accompanied it, so it appeared to only be for decorative purposes rather than useful ones. 

Armitage nodded, seemingly proud of himself. “Do you like it?”

She looked it over a few more times, her smile true and excited. 

“Yes! Thank you so much for thinking of me.”

Rey placed the teacup on her nightstand that evening and just stared at it. 

It was boring as a decoration, even though that was it’s sole purpose in life, but Rey could hardly stand to just let it…sit there. 

“Why not place your pins and hair ties in it, Madame?” Jess had suggested while helping her to bed, Rey explaining the story that had happened earlier that afternoon. 

_That’s a good idea_ , Rey had thought. Give the delicate thing a purpose. 

The next morning, Rey woke to find Jess had transferred almost thirty elastic hair ties and a handful of bobby pins into the shallow cup, its usefulness easily achieved. 

◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇

June came sooner than later, Eirenia making more and more preparations for her upcoming birthday. She was sitting at the gable window in her boudoir, reading some scientific book involving molecular and genome evolution, when a butler knocked lightly at her door, announcing a guest to her suite. 

The proclamation surprised her, seeing that the chamber maids were usually the only people allowed in her rooms besides Eirenia, but she ushered the guest in without a moment's hesitation. 

Armitage stood in the doorway, a grin plastered and slight sheen of sweat covering his forehead and neck. 

“Good Afternoon, Miss Eirenia.” He nodded to the butler, who left them alone again. He must have assumed some special permission from Grandfather to do this not once, but now _twice._

She closed the book and stood up. “Hello, Armitage. It’s good to see you again. How are the States?”

He chuckled, looking down at the floorboards. 

“Chaotic, I suppose. They don’t have as firm of a grasp on their people as we do here.” His eyes retired back to hers, asking permission to enter, which Eirenia granted with a wave of her hand. 

“Can I serve you a cup of tea?” She offered, wandering over to the pine table and its tray of Phoenix oolong atop it. “I’ve been trying out this mix for a couple days now, and it might be my new favorite.”

“I would love a cup, thank you.”

They sat together, but not before Rey opened the window to allow the fresh air to pour through. Armitage may not be her type, but he was _not_ painful to look at in the slightest. 

“Your Grandfather tells me that your studies are nearly complete.”

She nodded. _Yawn,_ yet another conversation about her monotonous classes.

“What have you been doing in your free time besides crunching numbers and learning Latin?”

_Oh?_

Rey was slightly shocked by his question. No one usually cared to discuss _her_ interests. They talk about Eirenia like a character in a book most of the time: about her past, her current actions, her future. 

“I’ve been interested in film-making actually,” she smiled, letting down her cup and saucer softly, “I’m only really interested in older titles, but the composition and special effects, even the _direction_ is so interesting to me.”

“Ah. I’m not a film fanatic myself, but I have a colleague in the states who is.” 

The conversation carried like the breeze swiftly moving around the room until Armitage jolted, like he suddenly realized something. 

“Before I go,” he said, reaching into the breast pocket of a jacket he was most likely sweating in, “I have another present for you.”

Her heart skipped. “ _Another?_ Armitage, you really don-“

“I know I don’t _have_ to, Eirenia.” He offered a smaller box, half the size of the previous one. It was black with no wrapping paper. “But I want to.”

Her breath left her when she carefully removed the top to the box. 

Nestling in a bed of blue satin sat a pair of diamond earrings and a delicate diamond choker. Eirenia could only gasp, setting the box down and lifting the jewelry up to shine in the summer sunshine. 

“Armitage, I-I don’t know what to say.”

Grandfather has given her diamonds before. 

But not like _this._

He pushed himself out of his chair and rounded the table, grabbing the necklace and wrapping it softly around Eirenia’s throat. The leather of his glove brushed her skin, but didn’t send any kind of jolt or electricity down her spine. 

“There,” he cooed, “beautiful gems on a beautiful girl.”

She turned, catching Armitage in the sunlight, and gazed up, searching for anything in him that would make her heart surge simply by reading his expression or wistfully staring into his eyes. 

But sadly, nothing did. 

_How unfortunate,_ Rey thought, like she always did when she was with Armitage. 

◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇

July was filled with even _more_ presents, all coming through the mail since Armitage was stuck dealing with pressing matters in the States. Various things ranging from dresses to shoes, books and films, all flooded Rey’s senses and it soon became overwhelming. 

The element of happiness behind his little trinkets was just…gone. 

Perhaps it was because he wasn’t there personally to give them to her. But Rey had the sinking feeling that was not true. 

Which leads us to the current time, a suffocatingly hot morning in August, only two weeks prior to her birthday. 

Rey wakes to the heat, first and foremost, but then a fear hits her after months or unknowing; attempting to pinpoint the source of her dragging heart.

She soon finds that her desire is not for objects. 

Rey wants a companion. 

Not even a romantic one, in that matter. But her wishes from ages ago ache like a fresh wound. Back when Rey was small and innocent, dreaming of someone she could play with and confide every desire, every secret, too. 

The medication has been so strong since that restless night, since that… _kiss,_ that Rey hasn’t dreamed a single time. She should be used to that, but like a man trapped in a desert who’s only taste of water was during a single monsoon, she craves for something she cannot have again. 

The memories and dreams are so forgone now, Rey can hardly remember what his face looks like. She recalls dark hair, but when she tries to imagine his nose or eyes or mouth, everything suddenly becomes a blur.

It just makes the abyss of her loneliness sink even further. 

Rey sweats whilst she’s dressed. She sweats from the curling iron and the makeup, all necessary to her image but bothersome beyond imagination. 

Her grandfather does not summon her this morning for whatever reason, and seeing as she has no lessons or lectures to attend today, Rey spends her time leisuring in the hot, humid rolls of summer. Ice tea and cold jam cool her beating blood if only for a moment. 

Hours past. Still nothing from Grandfather. Which is…odd. 

Rey is curious. It cannot be helped. The maids and butlers claim they haven’t seen him since breakfast either, and he’s supposedly been holed up in the parlor since then. 

Grandfather only graces the parlor when he’s smoking cigars or talking business, generally. Rey flips through her hand-written calendar once she returns to her room, seeing nothing besides her upcoming birthday and the curiosity suddenly becomes hotter than the air. 

Lunch won’t be served for another thirty minutes. If everything is timed correctly, Rey can successfully wander over to the south wing of the manor, creep through the hallway towards her grandfather’s quarters, and press her ear to the door of the parlor’s entrance. 

Years of ballet help keep Rey’s steps quiet and lithe while she starts down the hall. 

No one is nearby. Her cotton skirt sways the closer she creeps to the mahogany door, voices low and rumbling from beneath the swallow of the room. Like she planned, Rey rests her cheek and ear to the surface and cranes her neck to make out the voices. 

“ _…matters that would be under your wing instead…”_

That’s Grandfather. She could never mistake his voice. It echoes in her head, constantly. 

But there’s another joining his. 

“ _…I understand completely sir, if Eirenia…”_

She jolts at the sound of her own name. What could they be discussing? With herself as the subject?

Rey’s breathing is becoming labored, chest swelling against her linen bodice. She’s fortunate that corsets and whalebone are only reserved for seasonal times: when the leaves turn an array of yellows and reds, and then when the branches are bare and sullen.

Steps sound from the room as the two men walk closer to what she assumes is the billiards table. Rey is correct when she hears the tell-tale crack of the cue against the white ball, signaling the start of their game. 

They are also now closer to the door, which is then closer to Rey’s eavesdropping ear. 

The second voice is _much_ clearer now. 

“… _want nothing more than what’s pivotal for her future…”_

Her sweating brow crinkles, befuddled. 

_When did Armitage arrive at the estate?_

It’s his voice. Rey knows it. They’re far past being acquaintances at this point. 

Her neck begins to ache with the awkward angle it’s held at, but she’s growing desperate to know more, to listen, to gather any information she can regarding this secretive conversation between Sheev Palpatine and Armitage Hux. 

“ _I’m expecting you to move to Heathfield after, of course,”_ Grandfather lulls with his typical unassuming tone. “ _A husband cannot be separated from his wife, after all.”_

The color drains from Rey’s cheeks, despite the deep, pink blush from the summer heat. Her heart beats painfully against her ribcage. Surely, they’re not talking about Armitage _marrying_ her, are they? 

But knowing that her grandfather is always at least fifteen steps ahead, the idea is slowly and agonizingly becoming more and more real. 

Her feet kick out below her, scurrying to the far wall where she promptly bangs her tailbone and head into. 

Marriage. 

Armitage is going to propose. 

And Rey is about to puke. 

She takes off back down the hallway, flying past the ancient portraits, shell motifs that decorate the railings and gilt swags. A few servants beckon for Eirenia to slow down, seeing as her rush is considered improper but nothing else matters in the moment. 

The earth below her bare feet and the sapphire sky immediately calm her in every sense, like they always do, as she heads through the main yard and into the garden that she’s planted and cared for over the decade. Geraniums tickle her ankles. Fuchsia brush her shaky elbows. Campanula buds are crushed beneath her feet. 

Her hands and knees drop to the ground, fingers digging painfully into the dirt. The sensation is better than any drug or wine- it both numbs and electrifies her soul, thoughts racing at a feverish pace.

She knew this was coming. A blind mouse could have predicted Armitage proposing. 

But there is no way in _hell_ Rey is getting married. 

...At least not _right_ now.

Eirenia’s due to become a Ruler of the Domestic Empire shortly after her birthday. A position she’s been training and preparing for since her _tenth_ birthday. There’s a sickening feeling that with Armitage as her husband, that power will become divided. 

In no way is she power hungry. Quite the opposite, actually.

It’s just a matter of who will be controlling _Armitage._

Because Rey knows it will not be her. 

The breeze sates her mind just enough that she can lift herself from the ground, her skirt and hands soiled from twisting into the earth. She needs to think of something, quickly. Especially before her nightly dose at dinnertime which will _severely_ halt the portion of her brain capable of making decisions. 

Rey checks her watch. 

Ten minutes until lunch.

Three hours until tea. 

And six hours until supper.

◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇

The nurse arrives at her usual time to Rey lounging in the typically empty greenhouse. She wanted to be inside after her minor...tantrum, but the thought of no fresh air entering her lungs at all made her want to shrivel and die. 

She takes the clear cup, nodding at the nurse for confirmation. 

Then, Eirenia does something she would have never dared to do before. 

The pills remain below the flesh of her tongue, cleverly hidden from any eyes. The nurse has not checked to ensure Eirenia has taken her medicine for a while now, and merely takes the cup back with a slight smile. Rey tries not to wince when she smiles back, the guilt already rotting within herself. 

But she must do what she needs to. 

Once Rey is in her own private space again, she spits the pills out and tucks the slippery things into the cup of her brasserie. She prays that the color will not transfer in spit-ridden splotches against the fine, white silk, but sacrifices are being made today anyways. 

◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇

Dinner comes. Eirenia attempts her best acting. 

She sways slightly when the drinks and halibut are sat, her grandfather not present for the final meal of the day either. It’s a relief, but Eirenia still needs to fool the maids and butlers in order for nothing to be brought up to the attention of Grandfather. 

The food tastes much more headier than it does when Rey is usually drugged.

She allows Jess to bathe her, like all nights, allowing her body to be heavy and dead, even without anything pumping through her blood. Rey had thankfully moved the little pill collection to her bedside drawer before she was undressed, so nothing suspicious has happened.

...So far.

Her face remains pliant and emotionless, despite the inner turmoil with her soul. Jess calmly tucks her and bids her a good-night, opening the closet doors for whatever reason that Rey simply can’t remember anymore. 

It’s only when she’s lying alone in bed, the night dark and haunting, when the impact of what she’s about to do hits her. 

Her breathing and heart speed up frantically, the thought of being married the only motivator and serum for her fright. Tears leak even when she wills them not too.

Sure, the position at the high court _is_ something Rey has been excited and prepared for. She is smart. She will become powerful. Eirenia can _finally_ become her own person, albeit still following directly in her grandfather’s footsteps.

But with a husband like _Armitage?_

Everything would have been for nothing. 

Everything.

And there’s another strange reason, deep in her bones, as to why Rey cannot _fathom_ being with Armitage .

Rey wants to marry someone she _loves_. 

She doesn't love Armitage. He is pleasant. He is polite. But he is the dog to America’s leader. Politics will always be more important than anything relating to a healthy, happy marriage. 

Rey shudders, packing her leather satchel quickly. 

Living off the land can’t be _that_ difficult. She has warm pants and sweaters that will keep her from freezing. Some preserved snacks Jess snuck in earlier this week. A hand-carved wood and steel knife that a butler had lovingly given her for her 16th birthday. Tears begin to drip onto all the items, hot from anger. Warm with sadness. 

There shouldn’t be much more she would need.

_Right?_

It doesn’t matter. Rey is running out of time. She slips on her thermal leggings and long-sleeved knit dress, perfect for running yet remaining cool in the humid air. If there was more time, Rey debates on asking Jess to escape alongside her, to be a _true_ friend, rather than just a hired help for a mistress. But there are too many dangers in letting anyone else know where she may run off to. 

In the quiet of the night with tears still gracing her eyes, Rey creeps as carefully as she can down the creaky halls, down the Persian rugs, until her boots are toeing down the estate’s large, rounded staircase. 

She will miss the luxuries that Heathfield has provided. 

But the manor itself has essentially been a prison since Rey could ever remember. 

She’s halfway down the stairs when a sudden pull, much akin to a loose thread yanked from an unraveling sweater, shoots through Rey. Her movements all but halt, the bag bulging and swaying. 

Rey turns around and climbs back up the empty stairs, trying to hide a shiver that threatens to overtake her entire body, but it’s promptly ignored but a wave of curiosity. 

The end of this string does lead somewhere. She can feel it 

She arrives at the top of the staircase again, the feeling suddenly intensifying into waves of uncomfortable heat. Rey starts touching the wallpaper, the floorboards, any frame or flora nearby that would elect and confirm this strange pull, but nothing sends a single jolt. 

It’s like a game of hot and cold, one she used to play with the nanny as a child, and sometimes with…

Whatever she’d named him. Rey honestly can’t remember right now.

  
  


The pulsing feeling from the root of her neck yanks, causing her head to crane up until her vision is much higher, and Rey becomes eye to eye with the largest mystery in this manner besides her grandfather: the spine above the staircase. 

It looms eerily above her, waiting. 

Without a second thought, Rey reaches up and touches the wooden frame. 

A number of things happen. All strange things, like everything of late. There’s a feeling of the earth, grass and mud, below her feet and the sensation of cold air brushing past her cheeks. It’s the sensation of running. Rey can even feel the burn in her legs, her lungs heaving and sore from exertion. 

It’s like she’s been teleported from the manor to this odd scene. 

Then, it’s like Rey is trapped in someone else’s body, 

She watches, able to witness everything like they’re through her own eyes. But simultaneously, Rey is like a bird, flying high above the trees, watching a woman run, carrying a bag much like hers in one arm and a small bundle in the other.

_Is that..._

_Is this me?_

The woman, herself, she supposes, appears to be running for her life. There’s shouting that Rey can vaguely hear from a distance away.

“ _Rey!”_

Someone’s saying her name. But they’re also saying another’s. One she does not know.

_“Niamh!”_

But the desperate calls do not slow running. She persists, sprinting until the forest at the edge of the property comes into view.

Rey, or whoever’s body she’s watching and inhibiting, is _so_ close to freedom. The oaks are just within reach,fingers almost grasping the branches, where she can be lost and wild, away and free and safe _at last-_

A gunshot knocks Rey from the vision _viciously._

She comes back to reality, boots skidding across the topmost step, as her hand grabs for purchase on the staircase’s creaky handrail. It’s solid wood below her feet now, _not_ soft earth and blades of grass. With a quick glance around, Rey realizes the gunshot happened in this strange hallucination of hers and not in the manor, but it still provides no help for her nerves.

_What...what was that?_

The calling, the pull, is gone. Whatever this misery fueled vision wanted her to see has done its job. 

She’s scared.

Rey has lost all her bravado to run away, the gunshot and terror still running freely in her blood. For all she knows, Rey could be an undiscovered physic and the scene she just witnessed was _actually_ the future.

The Irish _are_ known to be inhibitors of magic. 

She can’t go to the wild reaches of the forest. Not now, at least. There are things far worse than being married. 

Being shot at and potentially killed, is one of them. 

The rational part of her brain screams that no one on this estate would ever dare hurt Mistress Palpatine, no less _kill_ her, but the concept of rationally has since been demolished, fear and guilt winning over her heart. Rey trembles while she scurries back to her suite and tosses the bag and boots under her bed, praying Jess will be the first one to find it and not Grandfather.

Rey is still crying, she now realizes.

She must have continued to sob the entire time of her failed escapade and during the hallucination. With no drugs coating or numbing her brain, everything feels too loud, even in the dead quiet of the night. 

_Too much_ , all of this is just _too much_.

Her fingers tremble when they open up the creaky drawer to her nightstand, Rey fishing the pills out and swallowing them dry. They will make her forget. They will take away all these feelings. Like they always do.

And apparently, these ones were particularly high-dose pills because Rey is suddenly falling face-first onto the lavish top of her emerald comforter, sleep taking over her mind and body in what feels like only a breath’s moment...

**Author's Note:**

> The Manor is based off of [Tyntesfield Manor, England](https://imgur.com/gallery/ZqZcInB). This amazing structure has been used in media such as Sherlock Holmes and Downton Abbey and it's quite spectacular!


End file.
